Whiskey or Love?
by TdeAlba
Summary: John and Natalie independently drown their sorrows in alcohol in the wake of the Statesville mess. John acts a little crazy. Nothing out of the ordinary.


**Disclaimers**: The characters are not my intellectual property and I am not using them for profit.

**Author's Note:** This was written towards the end of December 2005.

* * *

As he took another swig from the bottle he reminded himself that while romance novels might call it romantic for a man to peer at his beloved through her window, in the real world most women classify it as stalking. It was crazy, he knew. He shouldn't be there. And yet, he was, watching her through his binoculars. She was sitting in the window seat wearing a set of pajamas very similar to the ones she'd been wearing that last time. These were blue though. Up close they probably made her eyes shimmer and glow. Amazing. As beautiful as she looked made up, with her hair done, wearing the clothes she wore into the office everyday she looked just as beautiful now. Had he told her that? How beautiful she looked going to bed or waking up in the morning? One of many things it was too late to say now, seeing as this was the only way he was ever likely to see her near a bed again. 

He took another drink. There was no way she could see him, but it felt as though she were looking right into his eyes. Even at this distance he could see the pain in her eyes; the pain he'd helped put there. If he could have nullified the laws of space, time, and reality for a moment he would have wrapped his arms around her. Not a gesture she would welcome now anyway. How many opportunities to do that had he passed up? How many days did he push her away when she offered him the chance to touch her, to kiss her? He reminded himself again that he was an idiot and probably crazy to boot.

He took another drink and when he turned his head back she'd disappeared. He had a moment to debate whether to call it a night or wait for her return when his cell phone rang. He blinked at the caller ID. There was no way he was drunk enough to be hallucinating yet. Maybe the cold was affecting his vision.

"Hello?" he said cautiously.

"I just want to make sure you're clear that if my Dad catches you there you're a dead man."

No. It couldn't be.

"I'm serious," she continued. It was definitely her. "I mean, the guns are all supposed to be over at Asa's but I wouldn't put it past him to have one hidden in his luggage somewhere."

"What?" he asked.

"Don't be coy with me, John," she said, "Because if that's _not_ you out there on the hill I need to call the police."

He laughed, "You just did."

She groaned. "Well at least I _know_ it's you. If it weren't, you'd be freaking out right now. What are you doing out there anyway?" She sounded tired more than angry.

"I didn't think you could-"

"See you? There's a full moon," she said, "and snow all over the ground—makes it brighter. Plus there are no leaves on the trees now so the visibility's a little better than it was in September."

"Oh," he said sheepishly.

"You know this is creepy, right?" she said.

"I know," he sighed, "I just... I had to see you."

"And the reason you didn't just come to the door like a normal person?"

"You would have slammed it in my face," he pointed out.

"So why bother giving me the option," she said, "typical."

She was right; he had no business watching her, no right to be there. He couldn't even explain why he was there; he didn't normally do crazy things like this. He drained the rest of the bottle. "I didn't want to upset you," he said feebly.

"You never do," she sighed deeply, "thank you John, you've just turned the evening into a microcosm for our entire relationship."

"Well you know that was the plan," he said reaching into his bag for another bottle, "deep poetic guy like me…"

Something in his voice, in his words set off an alarm in her head; something was off about it and she didn't think it was just emotional turmoil. "John," she said surprised, "are you drunk?"

He hesitated, the bottle still inches from his lips. "I wouldn't say drunk yet so much as-"

Natalie cursed under her breath and massaged her temple with her free hand. There was no point in telling herself he wasn't her responsibility anymore; it wouldn't help her stop worrying. "Okay," she said, "I'm calling Michael to come pick you up. You can explain to him what you're doing there."

"Gonna take him a while to get here," he said, "He's working all night."

She groaned.

"By then I'll be sober anyway," he said taking another swallow despite the knowledge that he'd had enough.

She reached for her boots. "John, it's like ten degrees out there-"

"I wouldn't know," he said, "can't really feel much at this point."

"-you can't stay out there," she finished. "Of all the stupid- What were you thinking?"

"Look at it this way," he said, trying to reassure her, "I'll sober up fast."

"You're really not funny," she said, "just tell me you've stopped drinking at least."

He didn't respond to her last statement; he'd lied to her enough. Besides there was static on the line all of a sudden so he could just pretend he hadn't heard her. He took another swallow and told her, "Don't worry about me. I'll be fine. Besides, I got myself into this mess."

"In so many ways," she said softly. She sounded out of breath, it was strange. "You're crazy, you know that?" she added.

'That's what your uncle said," he took another deep gulp from the bottle. What could a therapist do that whiskey couldn't?

"Uncle Bo said you were crazy?"

Why oh why had he brought this up? "You know the shrink thing."

"What shrink thing?" If she was playing dumb, which wasn't like her, she was doing a good job. She sounded completely blank.

"Now who's being coy?" he asked just to make sure.

"I seriously have no idea what you're talking about," she said. That settled it; he had enough experience being lied to by Natalie to know she was being honest now.

"Sorry," he said softly, "I just assumed he'd told you."

"Told me what?" she pressed. In her head she asked herself again why she was even having this conversation with him. Why she was interested in whatever it was Bo had said to him.

"Bo thinks I need my head examined," he said, trying to make it sound light, nonchalant.

"I'd imagine he's not the first to tell you that," she said.

"No," he admitted, "but he's the first with the ability to fire me if I don't."

She was quiet for a moment. "No, he didn't tell me," she said. That was it; no commentary. No, 'well he's absolutely right, you need help' but no 'how dare he!' either. "Bo doesn't talk to me about you," she continued, "not about work stuff. He's more professional than that."

Professional. He'd been professional once upon a time. That's all he'd been for a time. She'd destroyed that. Could he justify what he'd done as payback then? He'd destroyed her life, her heart, but it wasn't anything she hadn't already done to him… somehow there was no satisfaction in the thought. He raised the bottle to his lips again, savoring the way the liquid burned down his throat even though it was a poor substitute for the warmth of her kisses.

He was startled suddenly by a squishing noise nearby. Someone was walking through the snow very close to where he stood. Even through his alcoholic haze his instincts kicked into super-cop mode. Practically running on autopilot he reached for his gun, was blessedly not there. A figure emerged from the shadows and suddenly Natalie was standing before him, her pajama pants stuffed into a pair of knee boots and a wool overcoat thrown over herself. Her face bore an unreadable expression.

"Come on," she said wearily, "we're gonna go back to Llanfair and call you a cab."

He didn't move. He just stood there staring at her. There was snow scattered in her hair and her skin was luminous in the glow created by the moon reflecting off the snow. It took him a moment to convince himself that she was real, not some angel or vision produced by the alcohol.

She stared back at him, taking in his bedraggled appearance, empty bottle at his feet and the half empty one in his hand. She shook her head and came closer so she could snatch the bottle out of his hand. She walked about fifteen feet back down the hill before she realized he wasn't following her and turned back. "Are you coming?" she asked. Her irritation with him was growing by the minute. How many times had he lectured her on drowning her sorrows in alcohol—but it was perfectly okay for him to do it. And how dare he come here! How dare he put her in a position where she had to take care of him! She had every right to blind anger at him; she shouldn't have to acknowledge the toll this was taking on him.

"I'm okay where I am," he said softly.

"No you're not," she said through gritted teeth, "now come on before I hit you over the head with this bottle and put you out of both of our misery."

She shuddered seeing him consider this prospect for a moment and walked back to him tugging at his arm.

"Why does it matter to you so much?" he asked staggering after him.

"Because I want you out of my life John, that doesn't mean I want you dead." She tried to lead him along behind her without looking at him. He stumbled twice and fell into the snow. She stopped and waited impatiently for him to pick himself up but after his third fall she reached down with both hands and pulled him back to his feet. He lurched forward into her and stood there, inches from her face. Blue eyes, darkened by the night, burned into her skin. Reaching up with one hand he tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "God you're beautiful," he said breathlessly.

Her expression softened and for half a moment he thought he caught a glimmer of the look she used to give him. Before he could be sure she turned away and wrapped one of his arms around her neck so that she could convey him the rest of the way back without him falling again. "Well you smell like the bums they stash in the drunk tank," she shot back at him.

Neither of them spoke the rest of the way back to the house. Silently Natalie opened the back door and eased John into one of the kitchen chairs. Grabbing the phone she flipped through the yellow pages until she found the entry for taxi companies. She dialed and waited. "They're not answering," she said.

"You calling Aranrhod Taxi?"

"Yeah," she said.

"I don't think they're gonna answer," he said lightly.

"Why?" she asked crossing her arms, wondering if he was more infuriating morose or jovial.

"Cause I busted them last week. It was a front for a smuggling operation."

Natalie slammed the phone back in its cradle. "Great. And it was the only 24 hour cab company in the phone book. As usual your timing sucks, John."

He gave her a sideways glance. "And the thought of driving me home yourself is just that detestable?"

"No," she said looking slightly flustered, "it's just not an option at the moment."

He turned to look at her fully, studying her face so intently that she turned away. She was flushed and she had been since the first moment he'd seen her that night. Initially he'd blamed it on the cold, but looking back that flush had already been on her cheeks when he was looking into her window. Realization dawned on him. "You're drunk too!" he said half accusing, half triumphant.

"I'm not drunk," she insisted squeezing her eyes shut and flushing a deeper red, "but I might be over the legal blood alcohol limit."

"And you lectured me-" he began before she snapped at him.

"Don't compare the two of us! I had a bottle of wine in the privacy of my own room. Which turned out not to be so private. That is not in anyway the same as drinking a bottle and a half of whiskey on a deserted hill in the middle of the snow."

"If you say so," he said allowing a hint of mockery to slip into his tone.

Ignoring him she leaned against the counter and thought for a moment. "Okay," she said, "benefits of living in a mansion—you can sleep it off in one of the guest rooms, but be quiet. I wasn't kidding about my dad and the guns."

She took half a step towards him and stopped. "Can you stand?" she asked.

He tried to shift his weight onto his feet and made it halfway to standing before he lost his balance. The time it had taken them to walk back to the house and the time Natalie had spent trying to find him a cab had allowed more of the alcohol to work its way into his bloodstream leaving him considerably more intoxicated than when she first met him on the hilltop. He tried to steady himself on the table only to discover that it was not as sturdy as it appeared. One side of the table tilted sharply into the air and he fell back into his chair and the table crashed back to the kitchen floor. "Apparently not," he said.

Natalie cast a panicked look towards the stairs. "What part of being quiet did you not understand?" she hissed.

"Sorry," he said bracing himself with his elbows on his knees; he was feeling incredibly dizzy.

Bringing her hands to her temples she shook her head. "When it all comes down to it, guys like you never _can_ hold their liquor."

"I'm not drunk," he protested.

"Roxy never was either," she said grabbing a plastic cup from an upper cabinet. At least life with Roxy had given her plenty of experience caring for drunk people. Not that this felt in anyway the same, for starters back then she'd always been sober herself.

"I've drunk more than this before," he insisted.

She filled the cup with water and handed it to him. "Drink that," she commanded. As he obeyed she continued, "Sleep deprivation lowers your alcohol tolerance. I'd be willing to bet you haven't been sleeping."

He drained the cup and blinked at her looking totally bewildered. "Sleep?"

"Yeah," she said walking over to him she slid one arm under his so that she could help him to standing, "come on." She tried to convince herself that the tingling sensation she felt where his skin touched hers was the result of the wine, not any attraction she had towards him.

"Just for the record you're a lot heavier than Roxy," she said as she hoisted him up the stairs. Whispering a silent prayer that they wouldn't wake anyone else she half carried half walked him to the closest guest room and nudged the door open with her foot. To her great and unpleasant surprise it was already occupied. Nash Brennan leapt to his feet in surprise and Natalie, too preoccupied with her current dilemma to question why he was there said quickly, "Sorry, wrong room."

As they backed out and Natalie shut the door behind them John looked at her with feigned indigence and asked, "How many guys you have stashed up here?"

"That one's not mine," she said as she opened the door across the hall more cautiously. This room was empty so she flipped on the lights and stepped inside.

As she led him towards the bed a voice behind her asked, "Um... do you need help with that?"

Natalie glared at Nash, "I think I can manage."

"Okay," he nodded backing out of the room.

Gently she eased John down on the bed, trying to ignore the sexuality inherent in the gesture. Something that became harder to ignore when she found herself unable to extricate herself from his arm. Using the arm draped over her neck he pulled her closer.

"John," she said squirming, "you have to let go of me now."

"I can't," he said desperately, breathing hard, staring deep into her eyes, now only inches from his, "I've tried. I know I said I would. But Natalie, I can't let go of you."

"Um… John," she said tugging at his arm, "I meant literally."

"Ah," he said, but he still didn't move his arm. He relaxed his hold on her though and Natalie knew she could have pulled away, but she didn't. Despite every voice in her head telling her not to, she stayed there, her chest resting on his. She felt her pulse quicken and realized that she was suddenly short of breath. John's hand slid up from her neck to tangle in her hair as he gently pulled her lips down to his. Unable to resist what her body had been yearning for since she first heard his voice that night, she kissed him back. Letting his tongue enter her mouth and swirl with her own, she could taste the flavors of whiskey and Riesling mingling on her palette.

She let herself drink him in for a long moment before she pulled away and said a breathless, "No." She untangled herself from his arms and stood up, "I'm not _that_ drunk."

"It's not like you let go," he said moodily, his eyes half shut, "I kept telling you to, but you wouldn't listen. I kept telling you 'don't get involved with me,' 'I don't love you,' 'I'm with Evangeline.' But you wouldn't listen. You just wouldn't let go. And I- and I was trying to stay away because you're husband was still alive and you just made it so hard-"

"That's right, John," she said sharply ending his drunken rant, "it's all my fault."

"No," he said shaking his head as much as he had strength to, "that's not what I'm saying. I-"

"Shh!" she said, "we can talk about this when you're sober, okay?" Which she knew meant they wouldn't talk about it. Sober John was too closed off to talk about these things and the last thing she wanted was to be reminded of the fact that she had pursued him. While she might not have known it, her husband was alive and she was actively chasing another man.

"Speaking of which," he said, "you gonna give me my bottle back?"

Looking down at her hand she realized she was still holding the half empty bottle. "Not likely," she said.

"That's theft you know," he said groggily.

"Is it?" she asked unscrewing the top and taking a defiant swig, "Well as soon as you're sober enough to file the paperwork you can arrest me. Just make sure not to leave anything out of your report because I will be forced to explain the circumstances leading up to the theft."

She set the bottle down on the carpet far enough away that she didn't think he'd be able to grab it and took the plastic cup out of his hand and walked to the bathroom to refill it.

"I told you," he called after her.

"Told me what?" she asked over the sound of the faucet.

He stared longingly at the whiskey bottle but couldn't summon the energy to reach it. "The night you got out of the hospital and showed up at my place and we almost…I told you Cris was alive."

She stopped in the doorway to the bathroom. "I know."

"I said the words-" he said.

"I know," she repeated, "trust me, I've replayed that night enough times. I've kicked myself plenty for not hearing what you were telling me then."

"You think it would have changed things if you'd found out then?" he asked his eyes locking with hers.

"Of course it would have," she said sadly, "but I don't know where we'd be now. Might be in more or less the same place." She set the cup on the nightstand beside him.

He looked at it, "I'd really prefer coffee."

"Water's better," she said walking to the foot of the bed to take off his shoes, "you need to rehydrate yourself. Though at this point I think you're gonna feel lousy tomorrow regardless of how much water you drink."

He shut his eyes and relaxed back against the pillows, appearing suddenly to doze off. "No, no, no," she said rolling him over, "on your side. Can't have you drowning in your own vomit. Though, if you could avoid vomiting on my mother's sheet's altogether, I'd really appreciate it."

She straightened up and started to leave until she heard him call her name in a voice so soft it was almost a whisper. "What?" she asked bending down so she could hear better.

His eyes opened to meet her own. Those blue eyes that were so still on the surface but had so much fire underneath. One of his hands reached up to touch the side of her face. "I love you."

She closed her eyes for a moment to keep them from tearing up. She'd fantasized about hearing him say those words so many times, but it had never been like this in her fantasies. He was drunk, she told herself, he wouldn't even remember saying this come morning. She smiled at him and patted his shoulder, "John, with the amount of whiskey you've consumed tonight, you probably love Rex too." And without allowing herself to look at him again she grabbed the bottle and left the room.

She locked the door from the outside, grateful for once that this house was old that was possible. Without even turning around she became aware of a presence behind her; she tensed.

"Your family has a habit of locking people in rooms, don't they?"

She turned to glare at Nash again. "Trust me it's for his own protection."

"And you guys like to use that line too."

"It's not to keep him in," she hissed, "it's to keep everyone else out. If my family finds out he's there they'll flip."

He raised an eyebrow. "No offense, but aren't you a little old to be sneaking your boyfriend in at night? Especially considering Jessica's boyfriend is down the hall in her room with your parents' blessing."

"He's not my boyfriend," she said wearily, "not anymore. And what are you doing here anyway?"

"Your dad's idea," he shrugged, "I guess he figures this way if Tess runs off to find me again at least she won't run far."

"Right," she nodded. She didn't understand half the decisions her family was making regarding Jessica's illness and her general strategy was to stay out of it.

"You seem to have a lot of experience helping out drunks, what were you, some kind of sorority girl in college?"

"Hardly," she said sounding somewhat bitter, "my mother. Growing up she used to come home drunk most every night." She leaned back against the wall and let herself slide down to the floor.

"Really?" he asked surprised, "she doesn't seem the type."

"Not Victoria Davidson," she started to explain.

"Oh, so you're talking about Niki?"

She shook her head wearily, really not in the mood to explain all this, "No. I didn't grow up here. I was _actually_ raised by another mother."

"So _that's_ why you have a brother who's not Jessica's brother?" he said trying to piece together the bits of information he'd heard.

"How do you know about Rex?" she asked. She wasn't really comfortable enough with this man to be having this conversation in the middle of the night in her pajamas, but she'd ceased to question the absurdity of the situation.

"We had a couple drinks together one night. Actually had a very helpful discussion."

She blinked at him, "why do I find that a very frightening prospect?"

"I dunno," he said. He sat down across from her in the hall and said a bit awkwardly, "So, you left the door open… and the walls are pretty thin… I couldn't help overhearing."

She buried her face in her hands, "I'm sorry."

"No, I just- I know you don't like me, and even though I think it's unfounded I can kind of understand why, but if you want to talk about it-"

"I really don't," she sighed.

"Okay," he said, "but- I don't know what the situation is. There's a lot going on in this town that I _really_ don't understand. But whoever that guy is, he really loves you."

She shook her head blinking back tears again, "Don't be fooled by what you heard. He's drunk. He didn't mean what he said."

"Well like I said, I don't really know." He stood up and started to go back in his room but then stopped and turned back to Natalie who hadn't yet summoned the energy to stand. "Look for what it's worth, I've spent a lot of time around drunk people too and it's been my experience that they might say things they don't mean to _say_, but they don't ever say things they don't mean."

He shut the door behind him and Natalie stayed there in the hallway for another moment, letting a tear slip over her cheek. She stood and looked longingly at the door to the room where John slept before. It seemed like it could be so easy… but nothing ever was with them. She trudged to her own room and drew the curtains across her window before crawling into bed.

Fin.


End file.
